


Snow

by izzybeth



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzybeth/pseuds/izzybeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>love sought is good, but given unsought better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

> written for [ds_shakespeare](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_shakespeare/) (prompt #136)

Ray kicked the door open while balancing two paper bags-ful of groceries and a six-pack in his arms. Outside the snow was still coming down hard and fast, and the paper bags were wet with it. One bag tore and Ray sighed and shut his eyes as a loaf of bread and an oversized bag of goldfish crackers hit the floor. He had barely deposited the groceries on the counter before the paper split completely and the fancy expensive ground coffee Vecchio liked, the apples, the oranges, a jar of salsa, and a couple rolls of toilet paper spilled out in a miniature avalanche. Ray held out a hand and caught the jar as it rolled over the edge of the counter. He set it upright, pointed at it to make sure it stayed put, and bent over to retrieve the bread and the goldfish.

His back cracked loudly and Ray sighed, hanging there looking at his knees with his knuckles brushing the floor and his ass in the air. It had been that sort of day. Not hellish or exhausting or particularly challenging, just... hard.

First, the snow. A Canadian cold front had swept in and decided that it would make camp right over Chicago and dump away. It had been snowing steadily since the evening before, and now the city was buried. It was the sort of snow that came down in clumps and hit you in the eye, big fluffy wet blobs that melted and trickled down the back of your neck, but still managed to turn the streets into one huge skating rink. Weather reports were saying at least a foot and a half, almost two in some places, and both O'Hare and Midway were whited out. The traffic cops were having a field day, checking out accidents and handing out tickets left and right, so Ray supposed it wasn't all bad.

Then, the domestic. Ray and his partner had been sent out to handle some guy who'd given his girlfriend a black eye and some bruises and was waving a kitchen knife around like the world owed him something. Turned out that once backup showed up, the guy put the knife down and went along nice and quiet, and the uniforms carted him off to jail, and they got the girl some medical attention and suggested she maybe press charges and definitely get a restraining order. Ray wished every domestic would end like that.

And Welsh had been riding his ass about his paperwork _again_ ("I suppose you'll have to play inside today, Kowalski"), and some little old lady insisted that her lhasa apso having run off was indeed a Major Crime ("you realize I pay your salary, young man"), the new civilian aide was a space cadet and completely incompetent, and oh yeah, his jeans were soaking fucking wet from slipping on the evil ice and falling into a drift of evil, evil snow. And they were chafing.

Fuck it. Groceries could wait. Ray straightened up and yanked his jeans off right there in the kitchen. His boxers were a bit damp in spots and it wasn't exactly tropical in the apartment, so he tossed his wet jeans over the back of a chair and headed into the bedroom to change, wriggling out of his boxers on the way.

He grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the floor and got into them as quick as he could; he could practically feel his balls climbing up into his body, away from the chilly air. A clean t-shirt, his old Academy sweatshirt with the hood coming off, and a pair of socks later, Ray was feeling better. He cranked up the heat. Vecchio would complain, but hell, it was early March, they wouldn't get snow like this again until next winter.

Ray padded over to the stereo. He put on some Bob Marley as a sort of self preservation method, went back to the kitchen, and began to put the groceries away. Vecchio had a family thing tonight, and Ray didn't know when he'd be back, so he had vague plans involving the rest of his mother's pierogi he had in the freezer (he really wanted pizza but sending a delivery guy out in this weather was nothing short of cruel), the six-pack, and tv. College basketball something-or-other, or maybe a movie with explosions.

The groceries were put away and Ray had his pierogi heated up by the time the kitchen clock said six. Out of habit he flipped to channel 7 for the six o'clock news and dropped onto the old couch with a sigh and a beer. He knew it'd just be 'all snow, all the time' on the news, so he tuned out and had his dinner. Vecchio watched the news, almost every night, and--

And Vecchio wasn't home yet. Ray put his beer down and muted the tv. The snow-covered silence disturbed him a little. Ever since they'd decided to give co-habitation a shot, the apartment was never actually quiet. Either the tv was on, or Vecchio was on the phone with some member of his mega-familia, or Ray had some music playing, or they were talking, bickering, dancing, fighting, fucking. It was just _odd_ to hear nothing. It was like living alone again, Ray thought. And living alone hadn't been any fun at all. He thought he'd like it, post-Stella. Boxing gloves on the dresser instead of stuffed in the back of the closet, piles of Ring World on the coffee table instead of in a box under the bed, dart board on the wall and dancing feet on the floor instead of nowhere. And no Stella to nag at him about it and complain about first impressions and what if her boss came by and saw that she was married to a real guy and not a cardboard cut-out.

Ray thought it was gonna be great, living alone. Room for him to live and be himself. Instead, he'd found out that he, like most men around the world, was a slob, and that he was also fucking lonely. Which shouldn't have been such a surprise, but it was.

And then Fraser appeared. Which was great. And weird. And then Stella left with Vecchio. Which sucked a lot. And then it turned out that Canada rated higher than Ray in the Big Book Of Fraser, and that sucked beyond the telling of it.

But then Vecchio came back. Which sort of sucked, but was sort of funny. Because that meant that Florida rated higher than Vecchio in the Big Book Of Stella. And it also meant that Vecchio was as big a loser as Ray was. Maybe it was a curse. All guys who go by Ray are pathetic bastards, or something like that.

Anyway. Vecchio came back. And long story short, they decided that fucking was more fun than fighting (or at least gave the fighting more of a point) and shacked up. Ray's boxing gloves weren't lying on top of the dresser, but they were hung up on the back of the bedroom door, not hidden away. There were a couple Ring Worlds on the coffee table, sharing space with issues of Newsweek and last Sunday's Trib. No dancing feet on the floor, but Ray didn't think they really needed them. And it beat the hell out of being alone.

Ray drained his beer and glanced at the muted tv. The news had ended and some brainless entertainment show spewed from the screen. He grabbed the remote, turned it off, and put Bob Marley back on. Much better. Screw movie explosions.

He washed his one dish and one fork and put them away, which reminded him even more of living alone. Damn it. He really wished Vecchio would get his ass home. Stupid apartment was too big for one person.

Three beers, one Van Morrison album, half of Magical Mystery Tour, and a bowl of ice cream later, Ray grinned and opened the door on Vecchio, who held a pan of something covered in aluminum foil that smelled great and was fumbling with his keys. He took the pan out of Vecchio's hands and pulled him in by the lapels of his long wool coat. "You look like crap." Gave him a kiss hello.

"Missed you tonight, too." Vecchio shrugged out of his coat and hung it up while toeing off his shoes. He glanced at the collection of empty bottles on the coffee table. "Did you leave _any_ beer for me?"

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. There's plenty left." Ray cracked open the last two bottles and handed one to Vecchio. "There's more in the fridge." He pulled back the foil on the pan. "Hey, antipasti. Sweet."

"Save it for lunch tomorrow, would you? I see you finished off all the pierogi." Vecchio took a long drink from his bottle. "Nice to be home. Despite the heat being up too high." He put up a hand to turn the thermostat down, but Ray caught it and rubbed the chilly fingers between his hands.

"Leave it, it's fine. And you're freezing." Ray pulled Vecchio toward the bedroom. "Let's get you warmed up."


End file.
